Roadtrip II: Born to Be Wild
by Charlene Edwards
Summary: Sequel to Roadtrip. Premise -- Dick, Tim and Roy take a vacation, act their ages and disaster follows. Timewise, takes place the spring after "A Different Game".
1. Chapter 1

Title: Roadtrip II: Born to be Wild (Part 1)  
Author: Charlene Edwards  
Rating: PG-13 (language)  
Disclaimer: DC owns Dick, Tim, Roy and the mention of Bruce. I own the rest.  
Synopsis: The boys take another Roadtrip -- this time in Bruce's NEW car. A comedy of errors hopefully ensue. LOL  
Thanks go out to Patty and Tammy for this one. I hope you all enjoy. Char :-)

**Roadtrip**** II: Born to be Wild:**

"Get your motor running. Head out on the highway. Looking for adventure. And whatever comes our waayy."

Dick sighed "Why me?" as Roy and Tim continued to belt out of tune "Born to be Wiiiillllddd!"

"Oh please, just put in a CD!" Dick yelled at them as he drove the convertible down the lonely highway.

Roy and Tim laughed and then Roy added, "What's wrong dude, you got a problem with our singing?"

"Yes," Dick replied flatly.

"He's just jealous he can't sing as good as us," Tim added as he leaned back in the back seat, the wind rippling through his dark hair.

"What are we doing again?" Dick asked for about the hundredth time. He knew. Bruce had ordered a custom made convertible from California. Rather than have the car delivered, Dick and Tim had volunteered to fly to Los Angeles and pick up the car and drive it back to Gotham City. Roy had volunteered to tag along. Dick wasn't so sure about that -- not after their last vacation together -- but Dick knew he and Tim needed some down time, some away time. They had lost their summer last year, spent it in Gotham City's jail on trial for murder. Roy was right, they did need a little fun. And a cross country drive in a new convertible was exactly what they needed. Even Bruce agreed it'd be good for them -- ONCE he knew he had Gotham and Bludhaven covered.

"Having fun Robbie, having fun," Roy replied as he looked over his sunglasses at Dick. The smile on his face was sinfully wicked. Roy should have horns, Dick was positive of it.

Dick laughed. He didn't understand why he laughed, but he did. "Put the Creed CD in," Dick laughed as he continued down the highway. "The one with 'My Sacrifice'."

"No," Roy replied as he made a face.

"No? What'dya mean no?" Dick asked. "I like that."

"You would. Dude, I got a new Aerosmith CD -- 'Young Lust' -- gotta love the name and the CD cover."

Tim's hand quickly reached up from the back seat and snatched the CD from Roy's hand. Tim grinned as he looked at the girl unstrapping her black bra on the cover picture. "Cool. I was wanting to hear Nickelback, but I can look at this -- does it have MORE pictures?"

Roy quickly turned around and grabbed the CD from the boy's hand, "Gimme that." He turned back around in his seat as he slipped the CD into the player in what appeared to be one fluid movement.

"Put your seat belt on Roy," Dick sighed as he shook his head.

Over the din of the music, they heard another car approaching from behind them. Tim turned and saw the other convertible gaining on them from the back. As the speeding car approached, the car veered into the left lane, past the double yellow lines and pulled beside them.

There were two girls in the convertible, two well endowed girls. They were waving and calling out to them. Dick even found himself smiling. He was also sure if he could see his face that he was blushing a little too. The cop in him said the girls were violating the law -- driving left of center -- but the part of Dick that was twenty-four really didn't care. He caught the other car moving slightly ahead of him and as it did the buxom blond in the passenger side sat up pulling her shirt up revealing everything.

"Ohmygod!" Tim screamed in Dick's ear at a speed the speedsters would have been proud of.

"Oh yeah babeeee," Roy called out as he jerked the steering wheel from Dick causing their car to sway all over the road.

"Roy, what the hell? Stop it!" Dick ordered.

"Hit the gas man, we gotta catch up."

Dick slapped Roy's hand off the steering wheel. "We gotta not wreck this car," he adamantly replied as he heard Tim in the back seat. It sounded like the kid was hyperventilating.

"Dude!"

"Don't 'Dude' me, Harper. I'm NOT chasing after those girls. Remember what happened last time?"

"But it was sooooo much fun --"

"Until we ended up in jail! No," Dick responded.

"Oh My God!" came from the back seat.

Dick looked up over his sunglasses and watched as Tim fell over in the back seat. Rolling his eyes, Dick shook his head and pushed on the gas pedal. Maybe they could speed up -- just a little. Was it just coincidence that the CD started playing "Crazy"?

Not long after they crossed the California/Arizonia border, a red Mustang pulled along side them on the four lane highway. The car was full of girls. The brunette in the passenger side of the car was holding up a sign reading: "What's your cell phone number?" Dick couldn't help himself -- he grinned.

Roy did more than that. "Quick Tim, write down Dick's cell phone and hold it up!" Roy sounded frantic.

Dick turned to look at his red headed friend. "What'd ya think you're doing? Tim don't --" he started then laughed as he watched Tim holding up a sign with his cell phone number on it. He knew that this had to be a bad idea. But it was fun. It was only a few seconds later when the phone rang. "Do NOT give them our real names OR your real name!" Dick ordered. He knew this was a bad idea. They should just let it ring.

"Hey good lookin'... Yeah, I'm the cute red-head ... uh-huh ... my friends ... oh him, he's ... Robbie. Yeah, ... kid in the back's Jack. Me, baby I'm the man of your dreams," Roy replied as he laughed. "Well, yeah, you can call me that if you want babe ... my name? It's ... Lance."

Dick laughed aloud as he heard Roy. Oh man, if anyone EVER found out about this they were ALL dead.

Tim was reaching for the phone, trying to grab it out of Roy's hand, "Lemme talk!"

Roy swatted Tim's hand, "Stuff it small fry, these ladies want to talk to a real man, not a shrimp."

"I'm not a shrimp!" he yelled indignantly.

Dick laughed at the mayhem in the car as he continued to drive, glancing occasionally at the girls in the red mustang.

"Why would you wanna talk to him when you're talking to me, babe?" Roy asked.

"See!" Tim yelled as he reached for the phone.

Roy swatted his hand again, "Not you. Robbie's who she wants to speak to." Roy held the phone out to Dick.

A wide grin formed on Dick's face as he felt the heat moving into his cheeks. How could he be blushing? "No -- no -- I don't think that's a good --" Roy forced the phone into Dick's hand and pushed the phone to Dick's ear. "Uh ... hi! -- um Robbie --" He laughed a deep laugh as he listened to the girls on the other end.

Tim petulantly sat back in the seat with a loud sigh, "It's not fair! I'm the cute one."

Sitting in the booth in the small roadside diner, Dick watched Roy flirting with the girls from the Mustang. Maybe Roy was right, maybe a little flirting was harmless. He had to admit, he was having fun. He turned to his right just in time to see MacKenzie rubbing her hand on Tim's thigh. A whistle escaped his lips and Tim nervously turned to his older brother.

MacKenzie continued rubbing Tim, seemingly oblivious to Dick's notice. With a soft voice she asked, "Are you sure that you and your friends can't stay the night here, Jack?"

"Yeah, he's sure," Dick interjected with a laugh. "As fun as this has been, we've got to hit the road."

"Robbie, you're a spoil sport, ya' know that?" Roy asked as he pulled away from Blair.

Dick flashed his famous grin, "Sorry dude, we've got a time table."

Megan walked back over to their booth from the cash register. "Ready to go girls? Robbie? I've made reservations at the local hotel."

Blair pouted. "Robbie says they can't stay," as she traced the lines of the tattoo on Roy's arm.

Dick smiled, "Sorry Megan, we really are gonna have to go. We've got to get back to Gotham by the end of the week. Can't disappoint the man that hired us to bring the car back," he replied as she slid into the booth beside him. Lightly, she ran her fingers over his hand before leaning over and kissing him. He blushed.

As they watched the girls walk out of the diner Roy turned back toward his two friends and begged, "Are ya sure we can't stay the night?"

Dick only glared at him.

Tim smiled. "Man I wish I had a tattoo. The girls loved the tattoos."

"You were doing just fine without a tattoo," Dick replied as he took a drink from his soda.

Tim smiled at his brother, "Yeah but tattoos are cool and the girls really dig 'em."

"No! Absolutely not! We return home and there are tattoos on your body and both of our dads kill me," Dick said animatedly.

"Geez, don't bug out," Roy started. "Look kid, you can't just get a tattoo. They have to mean somethin'. Besides, There's not a tattoo parlor  
around here. You'll have to wait until the next town," Roy finished with a wicked grin.

A huge smile formed on Tim's face, "Cool!"

"NO! He will have to wait until he is eighteen and NOT on a trip with me. Not in the same state as me."

"Oh relax, you're gonna bust a gasket. He's not old enough, unless he got drug tattoos, he'd be old enough for that."

"What'ya mean he'd be old enough for drug tattoos? He is NOT old enough for those!" Dick declared as he reached out a grabbed a handful of french fries.

"Sure he is man," Roy replied as he stretched out on his side of the extra large booth.

"Kewl. How do you get those?"

"Shut up, you don't need to know," Dick grumbled.

"Look, jus' like this, Timbo, give me your hands," Roy said sitting back up. Tim looked nervously at Dick who was shaking his head, then he stuck his hands across the table. Roy smiled broadly as he pulled a pen out of his back pocket and started drawing on Tim's knuckles. "'Course the real ones would use a needle and some black ink, but we won't puncture you." As he continues to draw on Tim's fingers, he started describing the different symbols. "See, this means you belong to this gang." Roy pointed to a part of the mark, then moving to another continued, "And this one means you've made your name. Congratulations Timbo, you're a drug dealer."

Dick's eyes narrowed as he watched Roy and Tim. Tim was laughing. Rolling his eyes, Dick added, "Well prison tattoo's are better."

"Nah, these look better," Roy started.

Dick reached out and took the pen and started drawing on his own fingers. The tattoos he drew he knew all too well from his undercover acts as Robbie Malone. "See, now these are cool tattoos. Each one means a different prison or jail and different lengths of incarceration. Lets guys on the inside know whether to mess with you or not and what prison gangs you're in."

Roy shook his head. "Dude, they're too crude. These are more elaborate," he said taking the pen back to draw some more on Tim's fingers.

Tim had a very wide smile on his young face. "These are cool. Man, I wish I could keep 'em for a little while."

"Yeah, it'll last a little while too," Roy said as he started to get up from the booth.

Dick looked up at his red-headed friend, "What do you mean a little while?"

Looking down, Roy grinned. "I used permanent ink, so the water won't make it run."

"HOLY SHIT ROY!" Dick yelled.

"Dude, I always meant to ask, did you patent that phrase?" Roy laughed as he backed up watching Dick push Tim out of the booth and head toward him. "Geez, it'll come off in a couple of days." Dick reached out and swatted Roy on the side of his head. "Whaat? It'll be cool, he can show all his yuppie friends."

Dick glared at Roy. "Do you realize that I'm now gonna have to make this trip with PRISON tattoos on my fingers the whole way. Why did you use permanent ink?"

"It was the only pen I had. Besides, it's not that big a deal. So chill, nothing's gonna happen Dude."

Dick pulled the convertible into the gas station and beside the pump. All three young men got out of the car and stretched. Dick tossed his credit card at Roy, "Fill 'er up." He headed toward the small store that was part of the gas station, Tim at his heels.

Roy shook his head as he walked around the car to start pumping gas. Roy rolled his eyes as he noticed that the pump was an older model that did not allow for the use of credit cards at the pump. With a wicked smile, he pocketed Dick's credit card and started pumping gas. He turned to look inside the store and saw Dick and Tim grabbing bags of chips and candy and drinks. As he started to turn back around, his hand still on the gas pump, he heard a scratching sound.

Roy grimaced as he looked down. The rather large knife that he wore on his belt was scratching into the side of the car. There was about a four inch gash in the newly painted red exterior of the car. "Dick's gonna freak." Looking around, he noticed Dick and Tim were still looking around the store. He put the nozzle back on the pump and casually threw his knife in the back seat. Whistling, he walked toward the store.

He walked over to the cold drink section looking a beer. He needed one. With a VERY high alcohol content. Perusing the cold section he started getting agitated. "What the hell? What is this? Where's the beer?"

"Dry county sir," the clerk called out as he nervously watched the three young men who seemed to take up the entire small store.

Roy threw his head back and closed his eyes. Oh this was perfect.

Dick strolled over to Roy, "What's wrong?"

Roy sighed, "Just wanted a beer, Dude."

"Well, you don't need it. Couldn't drink it in the car anyway," Dick said as he reached the cooler grabbing out a few Zestis.

"That's what you think," Roy mumbled as he reached in and absentmindedly grabbed a six pack of Zesti Twist. He walked over to the counter, grabbing a bag of chips on his way and tossing his items on the counter.

The clerk looked at Roy's tattoos as he rang up the order. He had previously noticed the finger tattoos the other two young men sported. The agitated clerk rang up their purchases.

When the three had paid the clerk, they started heading toward the car. Tim was busily counting his money as Roy was anxiously waiting for Dick to spot the gash. It was too much to hope for that Dick wouldn't notice it. Roy pulled one of the cans of Zesti Twist out of his bag and took a large swig. "What the hell!"

"He gave me too much change," Tim said as he stopped in his tracks.

"What the hell, this soda has lemon in it, I'm exchanging it. Who puts friggin' lemon in soda," Roy yelled, the car forgotten for a moment.

Dick stopped and sighed. The three turned around and headed back toward the store. "Just exchange the change and the drinks. Don't buy anything else. Don't buy anything you can be sloppy with in the car."

The nervous clerk saw the three young men coming back toward the store. He opened the cash register. Watching them enter the door, he held up the money as he ducked down behind the counter. "Take it all! Take it all!"

Tim had started speaking as he walked through the door, "I got the wrong change ... what's he doing?"

Dick looked over the counter and down at the clerk. "Uh ... sir ... um ... I think you have the wrong idea."

"Yeah," Roy added slamming the Zesti Twists on the counter, "I need regular Zesti. Not this fruity crap. Who puts lemon in soda? It ain't done."

The clerk's trembling hand slammed the money on the counter. "Take it and leave. Please, please don't shoot me. I gotta wife. Don't hurt me!"  
.  
Dick looks at Tim and Roy then back down at the petrified clerk. "We're not going to shoot you. We don't have a gun."

"I ... I won't tell anyone what you looked like --- please don't hurt me. That's all the money there is."

Dick sighs and looks at Tim and Roy. "What did we do?"

"You look shifty to me," Roy said as he leaned against the counter and looked at Dick with a grin.

"Me? Oh no, it's you, you're all grunge," Dick protested.

Tim looks at Dick and then nods, "You do bro'."

"I do not!"

"Man it ain't the grunge it's the eyes. Right Timbo?"

"Yep, very shifty eyes," Tim agreed.

Dick rolled his eyes. "Guys, help me out here," he said as he pointed to the trembling clerk behind the counter. Turning to face the clerk, Dick starts in a soothing voice, "Mister, we're not robbing you. Honest."

Roy leaned over counter and pulled the petrified clerk up. "Hey, dude, who looks more shifty -- me or him?"

The clerk moaned as the three friends heard a trickling sound. Looking down, everyone saw the large brown stain forming on the clerk's tan pants.

Tim sighed. "Roy, man ... I think you just outshifted Dick. He wet himself. You scared the pee outta him."

Dick reached out and grabbed the clerk by the arms. "Look, calm down."

"Man don't touch him, he's like a betsy wetsy or somethin'," Roy said as he made a face.

Dick looked the clerk directly in the eyes. "Are you gonna calm down?" he asks forcefully.

The clerk continued to tremble "I'll be whatever you want. Please just take the money. I'll be calm."

"We don't want the money. This is NOT a robbery. You --"

"Okay. Not a robbery. It's a hold up. I got it. PLEEEAASSSE don't kill me!" the clerk interrupted.

Dick turned to Tim. "What am I doing wrong? Can't he understand me? Am I speaking English?

"Bro, I can't understand you most of the time." Tim leaned across the counter, shouting in the clerk's face. "WE AREN'T ROBBERS!"

Roy snorted, "Oooooh, shouting at him ...that'll probably get you number two."

Dick glared at Roy and then turned back to the annoying clerk. "Look, you gave my brother too much change. The loudmouth here got the  
wrong drinks and wants to exchange. That's all!"

"Loudmouth? I'm not the one that shouted at him."

"No! you're the one that made him pee on the floor," Dick said disgustedly.

"How'd I know he wasn't housebroken?" Roy asked, sounding serious.

Tim leaned against the counter and looked at the pathetic clerk. He let out an audible sigh. "Look, here's the ten dollar bill you gave me instead of a one. I'm gonna take this nice dollar bill and leave," he stated as he placed the ten on the counter and picked up a one from amongst all the money the terrified clerk had slammed on the counter.

Roy started complaining, "Man, I need to exchange these, they gotta lemon or some kind of crap in 'em. I don't drink fruity Zesti."

Dick's glared at Roy. "Just get new sodas ok, so we can leave. Leave the lemon ones here on the counter, ok."

Roy started heading toward the cold drink section. Dick watched him then turned back toward the terrified clerk, his hand still gripping the man's arm. The clerk was still shaking when he looked at Dick and stated, "I won't tell you the combination to the safe. You can't make me."

Releasing his hold on the man, Dick smacked his forehead with his hand. "Geez dude, we're not robbing you! How many times do I have to say that?"

"HEEEY, there aren't any more Zesti's but the fruity ones - cherry and lemon ... what the hell!! You guys got the last ones." Roy sauntered back over to the counter. "That's right. No robbery. No hold up. No hurt betsie wetsie. See," he added pointing to his sheath, "I don't even have my knife. See, it's empty. I just want a friggin' regular Zesti which you don't have in the cooler. Do ya have any in the back room?"

Tim was walking near the door when he spied a machine across the room he hadn't noticed before. His eyes grew wide and a smile formed on his face. "Oooooh, they have slurpees! I want one." He turned quickly back to the clerk, "Hey how much are the slurpees?"

The man behind the counter passed out and fell on the floor in a heap.

"Aw shit," Dick mumbled.

"Yeah, I think he did that too," Roy added as he started for the store room.

"Geez ... does this mean I can't have a slurpee?"

Dick whimpered and laid his head on the counter. Why him? Why did this always have to happen to him? He looked up toward the security video and sighed. It was all on tape. He could just see the eleven o'clock news now. When he finally raised his head, he saw Tim at the slurpee machine happily making his own slurpee. Dick could hear Roy ransacking the store room. Dick looked down at the money on the counter and the passed out clerk on the floor and sighed.

He walked around the counter, carefully stepping over the unconscious man, and looked for some paper and a pen. Quickly, he scrawled out a short note explaining what really happened. He looked down into the open empty cash register. He knew they couldn't walk out and leave the money for the taking, although it might actually me better if they left before the clerk regained consciousness. He started picking up the money to put it back in the register.

The bell on the door jangled as two men dressed in county sheriff uniforms walked in. The taller of the men was talking as he walked through the door, "Hey Joe, how's ... YOU'RE NOT JOE!" he says as he saw Dick standing behind the counter, money in hand.

Dick stared at the two officers, "Uh -- no -- I'm not Joe." He looked past the officers at Tim who's back was still to the counter. He was happily finding a lid for his oversized slurpee.

Roy called out from the storeroom, "Hey, there's some good stuff back here."

Dick tried to smile, then looked at the unconscious Joe before looking back at the deputies. "Um , this REALLY isn't ... what it looks like ... it is. It's not. It's ... see -- "

"Hands up!" the taller deputy yelled, as he and his companion draw their service revolvers. "Hands up where I can see 'em. NOW!"

Tim turned around slurping on his slurpee, "What's going --"

"You! Hands up too. Over here. Now!" the second deputy yelled as he pointed his gun at the teenager. He noticed the teens tattoos on the hand holding the red icy drink. "They're gang members," he shouted to the other officer.

Tim's mouth opened to protest but he stopped when the second officer waved the gun in his face. Reluctantly, he dropped his slurpee and raised his hands.

With a sigh, Dick raised his hands. "Look, we can explain this. It's not what it seems. Actually I don't know what it seems, but it's not what you're thinking."

"SHUT UP! MOVE OUT WHERE I CAN SEE YOU. KEEP YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!" the first officer shouted. "Harvey, get the one outta the store  
room. Be careful, he's probably armed too."

Tim looked at Dick, "Too?" All he had been armed with was a super sized slurpee. And now it graced the store floor.

Roy was moving the case back on the shelf he had pulled it from, a wicked grin on his face. He had found the LAST six-pack of regular Zesti in the store. And it was ALL his. He turned his head at the noise in the other room. "Hey, what's going out there?"

Gun shaking in hand, Harvey walked back to the storeroom. As he did, Dick looked at Tim and shrugged as Harvey yelled, "YOU IN THE STORE ROOM, COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS RAISED!"

The first officer looked at Dick and Tim, "Down on the floor, both of you."

Dick was exasperated. "Oh come on we didn't -- "

"NOW!"

Roy, a sixpack of regular Zesti in hand, started out. "What's going on -- whoa dude watch where you're pointing that thing," he said to the shaking deputy.

"HANDS UP NOW OR I'LL SHOOT!"

"Oh man," Roy started as he put his hands up, the six pack still in one hand. Looking at the trembling deputy, he said, "Dude chill out." Then he turned to Dick. "What's going on?"

Tim was looking down at his T-shirt, "Man I got slurpee all over me."

"Shuddup all of you!" the deputy ordered as he looked around at the three suspects. His hand holding the gun still shaking, he barked at Roy, "Drop the drinks."

Dick stepped forward toward the first officer as he calmly spoke, "Officer, please. I can explain. I know it doesn't look good but -- "

The taller deputy yelled at him. "SHUDDUP! On the Floor."

Harvey shouted at Roy, "Drop the friggin' drinks NOW!"

Roy closed his eyes as he released the six-pack. That was the LAST six pack of regular Zesti. The cans made a loud noise as they crashed into the floor. Harvey's nervous finger pulled the trigger at the noise and shot the drink cans. They exploded on impact spewing Zesti everywhere.

Dick and Roy both shouted "Shit!"

"For God's Sake Harvey, Stop shootin'!" the tall deputy ordered.

Tim's eyes grew wide. "Crap a dog."

"Yeah Harvey, for God's sake stop shooting before you hit someone -- like me!" Roy said flippantly.

"Shuddup ... you can't talk. You're under arrest and stuff. So just shuddup!" Harvey stammered.

"But we paid ... I even brought back the extra nine dollars," Tim whined.

The taller deputy turned to Tim, "SHUT UP ... get down on the floor. Harv, go tend to Joe."

Roy rolled his eyes, "Look dude, we can't get down on the floor. Zesti all over the floor," he pointed. "I ain't laying in that."

The deputy tried to ignore Roy, "How is Joe?" he called to Harvey.

"He's on the floor ... looks like he's unconsci- oh crap! He pissed all over the place. I got it on my shoes ... these are new shoes. Joe, wake the hell up. I think he's coming around," he answered. Then he helped the clerk stand, his free hand picking up the note on the counter. His brow furrowed as he read it.

Joe was still hysterical, "Thank God you're here. They came in and tried to rob me. They pulled me from behind the counter. I tried to resist but they had huge guns and they hit me and -- "

"Guns! We don't have any guns," Tim said as he turned to Dick. Dick just shook his head as he laced his hands behind his head.

"Pat 'em down Harve," the deputy who seemed to be in charge ordered. He held his gun on the three dangerous looking young men as his partner started frisking them.

Joe moved in front of the three suspects and started pointing at Tim, "And this one kept trying to fool me with a money swindle -- "

Tim indignantly replied, "I did not! You gave me too much change and I just brought it back and then bought a slurpee."

Continuing undeterred, Joe pointed to Roy, "He shouted at me and threatened me and assaulted me. And that one," he said as he pointed directly at Dick, "He threatened to shoot me!"

"I what?!" Dick yelled. This was insane. They were in the twilight zone, they had to be.

Harve looked up, "They ain't got no guns, Dave. I think... "

Dave turned to Joe and glared, "Which is it? The kid conned you while the others threatened to shoot you with invisible guns?"

Joe whimpers, "Well Dave, I thought they had guns."

"Dammit Joe, I don't care if you are my brother in law, I'm gonna toss your ass in jail if you do this shit again." He holsters his gun. "Harve, let 'em go."

"I dunno, they look shifty, 'specially him," Harve relies as he points to Dick.

"I don't care how shifty he looks, put away your gun."

"It's the eyes, they're all squinty and I think we -- "

"Geezus Harve, shut up and don't try and think. You don't have any experience with that." Turning to the three young men in the store he started what sounded like a very rehearsed speech. " uhhh, on behalf of the Kimball County I would like to sincerely apologize for any inconvenience that we may have caused you. We'll let you be on your way now."

"Dave you can't!" Joe whined, "They're robbers, they assaulted me ... they're shifty 'specially him," he says as he points to Dick.

Dick palms his hand across his face. "WHY ME? WHY DOES EVERYONE THINK I'M SHIFTY?"

Harve helpfully supplies, "It's the eyes ... no one can trust those kinda eyes."

Dave rolled his eyes as he shoved Dick's note in Joe's hands. "Again, we're sorry about any inconvenience we caused you, but we won't hold you up now. You can be on your way."

"Man, I lost my slurpee. That sucks," Tim whined as he walked out the door.

"My Zesti's all over the friggin' floor," Roy added as he grabbed the Zesti twist six-pack off the counter.

"Why does this always happen to us. The police show up, oh what a shock, and Roy's here, another shock. Anyone see a pattern?" Dick grumbled as they headed toward the door. Then he stopped dead still. "OH MY GOD!"

Roy closed his eyes. He had forgotten about the little scratch in all the commotion. 'I'm dead ... I'm sooo dead,' he thought to himself. It was too much to hope for that the cops would come out and decide to arrest them anyway. Opening his eyes he said, "Oh, you know I've been dying to try the fruity stuff, let's go. We should move along. Everyone in the car."

Dick remained perfectly still. "OH MY GOD! What did you do to the car?"

"Man, it's like the grand canyon of slashes," Tim said as he moved over and started inspecting the gash.

Dick moved over to the car, pushing Tim out of his way and knelt down eye level with the scratch. He looked up at Roy who stood over him. Roy shrugged with a smile. Dick's eyes narrowed on Roy. "I'm gonna kill you! What the hell did you do to this car?"

Nonchalantly, Roy tossed his drinks into the passenger seat. "We should go. There's that schedule of yours that we have to keep and I think we're behind. Besides, I didn't do nothin'."

Tim bent down, "I think I can see the metal ... it's all the way through the paint."

Like a panther striking at its prey, Dick grabbed Roy by the shirt collar. "You keyed HIS car! Are you NUTS!"

"Geez, I think you even scratched the metal," Tim added helpfully. "Dude, I can't believe you keyed the car? You're suppose to key someone else's car."

Roy pushed Dick off of him, "There's a scratch, I didn't see a scratch. Where?"

"HERE! By the gas tank! Where you were!" Dick pointed.

"Oh man, I swear I didn't see that before I put gas in. Maybe it happened afterwards, when I went into the store."

Tim leaned against the back of the car and softly said, "You are so busted."

Dick was a man on a mission. A detective after all. "How? There are no people here. We're in the middle of NOWHERE. The only other human for fifty miles is in that store. You saw the gash AFTER you pumped gas, didn't you? After you pumped the gas and before you came in the store looking alcohol?"

"Well, you'd look for alcohol too if you scratched this car! HIS car!" Roy added as he ran his hand through his red hair.

"I knew it! I knew you did it! You are dead!" Dick said as he started pacing around the car. The two deputies emerged from the store and watched them.

"Well of course I did it. But damn it, it was an accident. Just chill, dude. We'll fix it. Let's just find an auto repair store or a crayon or something and move on. No big deal. And IF we have to tell him, we'll make Bat Tot tell him."

"NO WAY!" Tim yelled as he got in the back seat.

Dick looked deep in thought as he sighed aloud, his eyes catching the deputies watching them. He tossed the keys at Roy, "Just get in and let's go."

Roy smiled evilly as he looked at the keys in his hand. Getting behind the wheel he revved the powerful engine. "Dude, seriously chill, it's not that bad. He won't notice it." Then revving the engine some more, he continued, "Oh yeah baby," as he wheeled the car back onto the highway.

The two deputies walked closer to the road watching the convertible moving down the highway. "I still think they're shifty looking, Dave."

"Harvey, shut up."

"Well, I'm gonna run the plates anyway," Harvey said.

"Just get in the car," Dave ordered as he put his sunglasses back on and started for the driver's seat. He shook his head as he watched Harve grab the car's mic and radio the tags in as soon as he sat in the passenger's seat. Dave sat behind the wheel and started to drive off in the opposite direction of the red convertible. The day was just too long.

The radio's crackle interrupted the silence of the car. Harvey anxiously grabbed the mic, "What've you got on the car?"

A female voice responded, "Car's registered to a Bruce T. Wayne in Gotham City."

Harvey's eyes grew wide. "Bruce Wayne! The Bruce Wayne? The car's stolen, right?"

The female replied, "There's nothing in the system --"

Harvey cut the radio and looked at Dave. "You KNOW the car's stolen."

"No," Dave answered.

"No way Bruce Wayne lets a bunch of gang bangers drive his car."

"No."

"Come on, just turn around and let's chase 'em. Come on."

Dave sighed as Harvey reached over and flipped the siren switch. Shaking his head, he made a quick U-turn and stepped on the gas.

**TO BE CONTINUED . . .**


	2. Chapter 2

Here's Part 2. Thanks to Patty for the wonderful beta job :-) I hope you all enjoy. Char :-)

ROADTRIP 2: PART 2:

"I wanna be a Cowboy babeeeeeeeeee! With the top let back and the sunshine shinin! Cowboy babeeeeeeee Ridin at night cause I sleep all day!"

"You missed some of the words," Dick complained as Roy continued to belt 'Cowboy' out of tune.

"Cowboy babeeeeeeeee I can smell a pig from a mile away," Roy took his eyes from the road for a moment to turn toward the passenger beside him. "Or in the next seat."

"HEY!" Dick yelled as Tim's laughter echoed from the back of the convertible.

"Well if you're gonna be a cop about the teeny-tiny can't hardly see it scratch and now your the lyrics police, I'm gonna call you a --"

"Teeny scratch! You mean the gouge of all gouges on BRUCE'S new car?"

Roy shook his head as his foot pressed on the gas pedal. "You make such a big deal out of everything. You're such a drama queen Dick."

"I'm a WHAT?"

Roy glanced at him, "A drama queen AND a prude. You do not know how to have fun. You need to relax and chill and act your age once in a while."

"I do act my age," Dick said as he heard Tim snort in the backseat. He glared at the boy who pulled out his sunglasses and put them on hiding his eyes. "I DO!"

"When?" Roy taunted.

"I do!" Dick defended.

"Then do something now."

Dick looked at Roy incredulously. "Like what? We're in a car."

Roy looked up at the bright sunny sky. "We're in a convertible. Stand up."

"I don't want to stand up in a moving car. You're doing ninety."

"AND?"

"Yeah bro, I know you can. It's not like a train."

Roy snorted, "That was work Bat Tot, and this is for fun which is why the Bat Prince can't do it."

"I can so!" Dick retorted back.

"Then do it!" Roy urged a sinful grin on his face.

Dick sighed. Yes, Roy most assuredly needed horns. Shaking his head, he felt a laugh start to rise from his stomach to burst from his lips. "Okay! You win!" Dick grabbed the windshield and stood erect in his seat in one quick fluid movement, arms raised over his head as the wind ruffled through his thick black hair. "Is this what you wanted?"

"Are you having fun?" Roy asked.

Dick laughed again. "Yeah, I think I am."

Roy laughed with him. "Then yeah, this is what I wanted."

Dick closed his eyes and breathed deep taking in the fresh air. He did enjoy the feeling of the wind whipping through his hair. He felt the tension knots melting away in his back. He heard the birds and Roy's out of tune singing and . . .

SIRENS!

"SHIT!" Roy yelled.

Dick opened his eyes and turned around to see the state trooper car closing the distance between them. He glared down at Roy who looked up with a sheepish grin as he slowed the car down and pulled off onto the shoulder of the road. Dick sat down in his seat with a thud.

"I bet you're gonna get a seat belt ticket," Tim stated.

Roy looked at Dick. "Look at the trouble you just got us into."

"I've gotten us into! I've gotten," Dick yelled but stopped mid sentence as he looked up at the uniformed state trooper who looked down at them. Dick gave the man a weak smile and slipped lower in his seat.

Roy turned to the trooper and looked over his red sunglasses. "Can I help you officer Sir?"

The uniformed trooper tapped his pen on his ticket book. "Ninety-two in a fifty-five. Eight more miles and you would've had a felony."

Roy smiles, "Well, I always try my best. Sir." He smiled as he heard Tim groan in the back seat.

"Um hm," the Officer said as he wrote on the pink citation form. Looking at Dick, he asked, "And just what were you doing? Ringling Brothers try outs?"

"Haly's actually," slipped from Dick's mouth before he clamped down on his tongue. That sounded too flippant and flippant in this situation was not good. Tim groaned even louder.

The trooper glared at Dick in an almost bat like glare. "Um hm." Looking down at Roy, he barked, "License and registration."

Roy sighed and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. His mind was racing at how high his insurance premiums were going to go. Then he smiled a wicked smile as his hand pulled the license Dinah had given him for emergencies, the one Oracle had created, for 'Lance Archer'. If this wasn't an emergency, he didn't know what was. He lifted up the license with two fingers and whistled.

"Registration too. Oh, and circus performer, I need your license too."

"Told ya you're gonna get a seat belt ticket," Tim's petulant voice called from the back seat.

Roy turned to look at Dick who was giving the official bat glare to the trooper. "ROBBIE, give the man your license and the registration."

Dick watched Roy, who seemed to be making faces, as he fished his wallet from his back jeans pocket. "Sure, hang on," ROBBIE. Roy wanted him to give the cop Robbie's ID. Fictitious information to an officer. He was Dick Grayson, Bludhaven Police Officer. He couldn't do that. He ... he didn't want to live down the stupid stunt Roy talked him into. If the BPD checked Dick's record as they periodically did and found ... THIS. Decision made. In a quick movement, he pulled Robbie Malone's license and handed it to Roy to hand to the officer.

"Registration," the trooper added.

Sighing, Dick held his hands up and moved his left hand to open the glove box. "It's in here," he said cautiously as he pulled the leather satchel and started going through the papers that came with the car. "It's uh ... a new car. Just give me a second and ... here it is," he said as he handed the registration across Roy to the trooper and then leaned back into the hand-crafted black leather seats and waited.

The trooper took the papers and walked back to his patrol cruiser to call in the information. Dick watched him from the side window as he drummed his fingers on the door arm. Bruce was going to know everything now. He'd know that Dick had allowed Roy to drive his car, no, worse, to ride in his car. Life as Dick knew it was now over. This was supposed to be a relaxing trip. So far, he was missing the relaxing part. Dick turned to glare at Roy who was whistling like he didn't have a care in the world.

Green eyes looked over red sunglasses. "What?" Roy asked with a shrug.

"I didn't say anything," Dick countered.

"You didn't have to Bro, you were giving the glare from the batcave," Tim said as he leaned over into the front seat propping himself on his elbows. "Anyone would wanna know what they did."

"Roy KNOWS what he did! Roy's responsible for ALL of this!"

"Chill dude. Relax and take a chill pill. The tickets ain't going on our real records and you can afford to pay our fines and -- "

"OUR? OUR! I am NOT paying off your ticket. UH UH. NOPE. You are the reason I am getting a ticket Mr. Show-me-you-can-act-your-age," Dick parroted. "That wasn't MY age I was acting, It ... it was your brain age!"

"Brain age?" Tim giggled. "That's pretty weak."

Dick's growl was cut off by Roy's snort. "I think you meant maturity and I didn't tell you to act like an idiot. That came to you naturally. You just repress it … most of the time."

"You didn't tell me ... I'm going -"

"Guys," Tim started as the sound of sirens in the distance echoed through the air. He stopped speaking and listened to them coming closer, then shook his head. They weren't coming after them, they were already getting a ticket. The day was finally looking up. He turned his attention back to Roy and Dick who were still bickering over whose fault all of this was when he saw the sheriff's patrol car zoom past them. "Wonder where they're going in such a --"

Dick and Roy both looked up just in time to see the sheriff's car screech around and head back directly toward them. The tires left thick skid marks and smoke billowed from them as the patrol car whipped around and head back directly toward them.

"What the Hell?" Roy asked bracing himself. He flinched when the car careened to a stop ... by slamming into the front of the hood of their car.

"Oh. My. God! THEY HIT THE CAR!" Dick screamed. Whimpering in the backseat, Tim fell over moaning as Dick jumped over the door and ran to the front of the car to inspect the damage.

As he did, the two deputies from the convenience store jumped from their cruiser. Harvey quickly pulled his gun and waved it at Dick. "FREEZE."

Dave followed suit with considerably less enthusiasm. "uh…Harvey."

"You freeze! You hurt this car! Ohmygod!" Dick yelled as the stunned State trooper walked over. He had pulled his sunglasses off and was staring at the collision sight.

Tim looked at Roy. "Uh ... maybe ... we should get out."

Roy shook his head as he pushed his sunglasses up on his nose. "Nah ... he's not a can of Zesti, he'll be safe."

Harvey was shaking his Zesti killing gun at Dick, "You're under arrest."

"For what this time! You're the one who assaulted my car!" Dick yelled as he turned back to the crushed front end and whimpered. Maybe Babs was right. Maybe some things could only be cured by a good long cry.

"Isn't YOUR car, punk. It's stolen! Raise your hands!" Harvey yelled as Dave just sighed.

Roy looked back at Tim as they both said, "Uh-oh," and leapt from the car.

The Trooper moved closer to Dave, "Anything you need to share deputy?"

Dave rolled his eyes. "Harvey's convinced the car's stolen."

"I just ran the plates, nothing came up."

Harvey kept his eyes on Dick as Tim and Roy grabbed Dick by his arms. "Car belongs to THE Bruce Wayne. No way he'd let these mooks drive his car."

"Mook?" Roy said disgustedly. "I ain't the one who shot the Zesti dude!"

"HOLD IT!!!" the trooper shouted and held out his hand. "Let's all be calm and get to the bottom of this."

"CALM!" Dick shouted as Tim sat on the crushed hood. "Look at what Deputy Ding and Dong did to this car. They --" Dick stopped as his cell phone started ringing. He pulled the phone from his side and flipped the top. "What!"

Barbara's voice was cold and business like. "Please hold for Mr. Wayne."

"Hold for Mr. Wayne? MR. WAYNE! What the hell!" Dick started.

Tim jumped from the car and grabbed the phone. "Give me that, it's Bruce, you do NOT want to talk to him."

"Why the hell not! It'd be perfect with the rest of this day. Look at this car!"

Roy grabbed the phone from Tim and held it over his head. "I'll talk to him." He pulled the phone to his ear, "Yo, Bruce ... how's it shakin'?"

"Give me the phone!" Tim yelled as he tried to grab it back. Dick, the State trooper and the two deputies all watched the game of keep away.

'HARPER!' Roy heard the growl from the phone in his ear as Tim's hand finally grabbed the phone's antenna. Roy complained and grabbed for the phone again. "Heeeey, I was --" yanking the phone, they all watched it fly from their hands and bounce into pieces on the ground. "Oops."

Tim stood there with his mouth open looking at the shattered phone. "He ... he ... he'll think we hung up on him. On HIM!"

"SHIT!" Dick yelled. "You broke MY phone! Bruce is going to think we hung up on him!"

"Dude, you got a warranty on that, right?" Roy asked rubbing the back of his neck as Dick just glared at him.

Tim started walking in a circle muttering, "He's gonna kill us and then raise us from the dead and then kill us again. He knows where Lazarus pits are located at, he'll use them over and over again."

The trooper took his ticket book and turned to Dave. "License please."

"I'm a cop. You can't give me a ticket," Dave said as he swatted Harvey. "Put the gun down. No one but you thinks the car's stolen. Look what you've caused."

Harvey looked at the crushed front end of the Ferrari and the banged up side of their patrol car. Then he looked at the trooper giving Dave a ticket. Maybe he was mistaken? He glared at the red head who laughed at the situation. He glared at the tattooed teen who muttered about some pit, probably a drug thing. He especially glared at the shifty eyed dark haired one who was leaning over the shattered phone. No…he turned a death glare on him. It was all HIS fault.

"Relaaax," he said to Dick as he patted him on the shoulder. Grinning, Roy walked closer to the trooper and the two deputies. "Officers, seeing as you smashed our car with no reason other than our obvious association with Zesti ... you'll help get it fixed, right?"

"I'll give you a report, insurance information, you can have Mr. Wayne make a claim. I assume since he called you, he's aware you're driving his car." Turning to the deputy he repeated, "License please."

"A claim against the city," Roy smirked. "He has goooood lawyers."

"Ro-- Lance, don't make this worse, pleeeeeaaase," Tim whined.

KICK! KICK! KICK!

Everyone turned toward the sound of feet hitting metal and watched as Dick continually kicking the patrol car.

* * *

Dick stood, flanked by Roy and Tim, in front of the magistrate's large bench. The magistrate looked over the charges that the officers had handed them then then looked at the three young men who stood before him.

Roy leaned behind Dick and whispered to Tim, "Seee, I didn't make it worse ... he did!"

Tim just shook his head and looked down as the magistrate started handing down his judgments.

"Robert Malone, for damage to personal property. $500 fine. Disorderly conduct. $200 fine."

"Don't forget he yelled at them," Roy added.

Dick turned to Roy and glared as he yelled, "SHUT UP!"

"Just helping," Roy added with a shrug.

The magistrate drolly added, "I was getting to the resist obstruct and delay an officer performing his official duty. $500 fine." Then the magistrate turned his attention to Roy and smiled. "For both of you. AND, Mr. Archer, $250 fine for the 92 in a 55 mile per hour zone."

Tim bit his bottom lip to suppress a giggle. Dick turned and smirked at Roy.

Roy smirked back and looked at the bench. He ducked his head and assumed his most angelic pose, the one he learned from Lian. "Yes your honor. I did wrong, but HE didn't have any liability insurance," he added with a smile as he pointed at Dick.

"I did so! Well ... Bruce did so."

"Oh yeah ... that's right, but doesn't the driver have to have it." Roy said with a sarcastic grin.

Dick looked incredulously at Roy. "I dunno. YOU were driving!"

"Not when they pulled us over!" Roy bantered as Tim whimpered from behind them.

"YES when they pulled us over! You're the one who got the speeding ticket! Don't try to confuse the judge."

"Well, I wasn't driving when they hit us."

Dick turned towards Roy and started edging closer to him as he shook his finger. "YOU were still behind the wheel! I can't believe -- "

BANG BANG BANG

Dick stopped his advance on Roy as he and Roy both turned to the judge who was pounding his gavel on the bench. Roy smiled and waved.

"You're ALL in contempt of court!"

Tim's mouth dropped. "All?" he asked pointing at himself. He watched as the judge nodded. "BUT I didn't do anything."

Glaring at him, the judge replied, "You're with them!"

* * *

Tim smiled sadistically as he let his body swing out as his hands held onto the bars. He enjoyed being on the outside of them while Dick and Roy were on the INSIDE of them. "That was a really nice judge. Didn't you guys think that was a really nice judge?"

Dick looked up from his hands to glare at the boy. "No."

"Not particularly," Roy said as he flopped across his bunk.

"Well, I thought he was after he decided NOT to hold me in contempt since I didn't do anything," Tim added. "You two shouldn't have been bickering," Tim said in his best Alfred tones as he released one hand from the bar and swung around.

Dick growled lowly as he approached the bars. "You whined like a baby. That's the ONLY reason he rescinded."

"I didn't DO anything to begin with. EXCEPT come on vacation with you guys. Bruce is the only one who thinks THAT should be a crime."

"Whatever! Did you get our bail money?"

"Fifteen-hundred dollars? EACH!" Tim laughed loudly. "You have GOT to be kidding. I don't have that kind of money on me. Besides, I'm a minor, I don't know if I can bail you out."

"Call Bruce for it," Dick said as his hands waved about the cell. "We can't stay here for fifteen days."

"Fifteen days in jail OR call Bruce ... I vote for jail," Roy interjected as he stretched his arms over himself, cracked his knuckles and then propped his arms under his head. "I mean, this is a nice quiet jail. I bet except for the occasional Otis, I doubt we'd have any company and I bet the food's probably not that bad."

"Yeah and I can get a nice room at the motel by the strip club," Tim said with an extra wide grin.

"STRIP CLUB!" Roy jumped from the bunk and ran to the bars. "Timmy, buddy, you've GOT to get me outta here."

"I don't wanna talk to Bruce," Tim said as he straightened up.

"Call Babs then," Dick said throwing his head back.

"She hung up on me after a diatribe about the thirty-seven phone calls between your cell phone and Megan's in less than an hour," Tim said making a face.

"HOW DID SHE ... Never mind ... she's 'the great all knowing Oracle'," Dick mimicked. He dropped on his bunk with a thud and looked up at Tim and Roy. "What are we going to do?"

Tim pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and pulled out a wad of cash and started counting. Dick stood back up and joined Roy at the bars as their mouths were agape at the size of the wad of money. "Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, three thousand!" Tim said with a smile. "BUT you two have to make sure I get into the strip club with you. I'm young and impressionable and need to be influenced. BADLY influenced."

"Roy's here, you don't have to worry, you can be badly influenced by him. He's good at that," Dick added with a smile.

"Yeah I ... WAITAMINUTE!" Roy yelled.

Laughing Tim started for the outer door. "I'll have you two out in a bit, and then you can explain to Alfred when we get home why it was a matter of life and death that he wire me three thousand dollars."

Dick and Roy looked at each other as Tim left the cell block. In unison the both groaned, "Explain to Alfred. SHIT!"

Two hours and forty-five minutes, three lectures from a judge, a cop and a grandmotherly court reporter who told them how disappointed she was in them, they finally stepped outside with Tim.

"Well, there is ONE good thing," Tim said with a grin. "the car's drivable."

Dick groaned. It might be drivable, but the car was no longer the car Bruce was expecting. It was a wreck. However, it was probably in far better condition than he would be when Alfred and Bruce were done with him. He rubbed his temples as his ever present headache assaulted him. He didn't want to think about that right now. Then the walking headache known as Roy slapped him on the back and chuckled. "Think of it this way Robbie, you can enjoy the rest of the trip. The car's been wrecked and we've already been to jail."

Dick looked up at him shaking his head, his hand held up in a futile effort to stop Roy from continuing. "Don't…Don't say it - "

Roy never paused. "What else could go wrong?"

**To be continued . . .**


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks to Patty for beta reading this and to Jesse for staying after me to get this part done. I hope you all enjoy. A few Author's notes: The Larry Winter Show is from Nightwing: The Series; for Timmy's rat reaction see Patty's A Bad Bear Day; for the alcohol corruption of a minor see most of the older brothers I know who feel it is their duty to get the little brothers drunk for their first time. LOL Char :-)

RoadTrip 2: Born to be Wild Part 3:

"I make a rich woman beg, I'll make a good woman steal," Roy pointed to the table where three young women sat laughing at his antics as he continued to sing. "I'll make an old woman blush, and make a young woman squeal." And squeal they did. He smiled a crooked smile at them as he wiggled his hips. "I wanna be yours pretty baby, yours and yours alone," he jumped from the small stage, microphone in hand, and moved to the women's table. "I'm here to tell ya honey, that I'm bad to the bone. B-B-B-B-Bad B-B-B-B-Bad B-B-B-B-Bad Bad to the bone."

Tim sighed and sunk further in his chair. "Who knew it would only take six beers to limber Roy up enough to sing."

"He's a performer," Dick said taking a swig of his beer.

"This isn't a karaoke bar."

"He used to be in a band."

Tim looked stricked. "Music has improved from your generation to mine then."

Dick rolled his eyes. "He was the drummer."

"I can see why," Tim replied drolly.

"On that note, I'm going to get round seven. Man the table Timmy," Dick chuckled as he stood and headed to the bar.

"Don't call me Timmy!" Tim called out behind him. "I'm not five anymore. They act like I'm still five." He looked at Dick's beer bottle, looked around, and slyly pulled it over and took a big swallow. His nose and eyes scrunched together. "EWWWWWW!!! That's like ... like ... horse piss. Why do people drink that? EWWW."

"Because it's an acquired taste Tot," Roy said as he balled his knuckles up and bored playfully into the back of Tim's head.

"How do you get past the taste to acquire it?" Tim asked as he took a napkin and ran it across his tongue trying to get the offending taste out of his mouth. He picked up his Zesti and downed the whole glass. His face was an interesting shade of grey.

"It's cheap," Roy laughed. "I'll make sure you get another one of those." He pointed at the Zesti and laughed as he headed toward the bar. Meeting Dick, Roy whispered in his ear. They both laughed and returned to the bar together.

"What are they doing?" Tim wondered as he watched them. His eyes went wide when he saw Roy whistling his way back to the table, a tray of shot glasses and bottles in his hands. "What is that?"

"The way to acquire your taste for liqour."

"OH NO! I don't wanna!"

"You wanted to when you tasted my beer," Dick added slapping Tim on the back as he sat beside him. "We thought we'd give you some choices, see what you like."

"Put hair on your chest," Roy laughed as he started pouring tasters.

"I don't want hair on my chest. My chest is fine like it is thank you very much."

Roy and Dick laughed loudly at Tim's protestations. Roy poured a tall glass from four different bottles. "Drink up kiddo. We're going to introduce you to the four kings -- Jose, Johnny, Jim, and Jack."

"UH UH! You've gotta be crazy!" Tim said as he started to push back from the table.

Dick's hand went flat against Tim's back and pushed him back to the table. "You started this. You're going to finish it. If you want to experiment with alcohol, that's fine. Let's do a controlled experiment."

Tim's face went pale. "Oh man, this is gonna suck."

Roy grinned. "Oh yeah, but by the time it's over, you won't care." Wickedly, he handed a glass to Tim and laughed at the face the boy made as he swallowed the liquid.

Tim grabbed his throat and gasped. "My throat ... fire ... water."

Roy handed him a glass of Old Crow Sour Mash Whiskey, "Yeah, they call it firewater."

Dick eyed the bottle, "Actually, they call the Old Crow a lot of things and none of them are good." Roy nodded and laughed while Dick mixed Seagram's Seven with Seven-Up and handed it to him, "This is a mixed drink, oh younger brother."

"What was that other?" Tim scowled. "I hate you both," and swallowed the shot. Dick patted him on the back and laughed as he coughed.

The three young women Roy had sung to walked to their table and giggled. "This is cute."

Roy grinned and held out a chair. "Ladies, join us, please. We could use some company." The three women smiled and sat down. Roy motioned with his hand to the bartender for more drinks. "Like my singing ladies?" The girls giggled again and nodded.

The brunette sat beside Tim. "You're just a kid aren't you?"

Tim blushed. "I'm not a kid!"

"Sure you are Tot," Roy answered not skipping a beat.

"I am not! I'm ... sophisticated." Tim glared at Roy when he snorted.

"You have interesting tattoo's," she said as she rubbed her hand across his knuckles. "I'm Deliliah."

"I'm Jack," Tim said with a grin. "Nice ta meet ya."

Roy turned toward the bar. "What's up with that bartender. Ain't he coming?" Roy got up and stomped over to the bar to order some drinks.

"You can have some of mine," Deliliah said as she handed Tim a glass of orange liquid.

"Juice, yeah that's good." Tim took a big sip and looked at Dick. "You know this bar thing isn't as fun as you said it would be."

Dick turned from the red-head he was talking to, "You're the one who said they had strippers."

"That was just to torture Ro--Lance." He took another swallow of Deliliah's drink. "This is good juice."

The red-head took Dick by the hand and led him to the dance floor. Roy sat a tray of drinks down on the table, looked after Dick and the red-head and held his hand out to the blonde girl. "Wanna go?" She smiled and put her hand in his as they went off.

Deliliah looked at Tim. "Do you want to dance?"

Tim shrugged. "I dunno. I'm not really that good at it."

"Aww, I could teach you," she said as she patted his leg.

"That's ok, maybe later." He looked at the red and yellow drinks on the tray. "What's this?"

"Jello shots," she replied. "Try one."

"Jello, huh? I've always liked pudding." He picked a red one up and downed it. "Whoa ... that's ... that's good."

"It's got Everclear in it, just like the orange juice," she smiled.

"It's good. I'm having another." Tim grabbed a yellow shot and downed it as well. "What's Everclear?"

"Just something to make it taste better," she said as she rubbed his arm.

Tim had downed a few more by the time Dick and Roy finished their dance and headed back to the table. He looked up at them as they came up to the table. Loudly, Tim greeted them "HI!! YOU GOTTA TRY THIS ... DESSERT THINGS!" Tim held out the Jello shots.

Dick's eyes narrowed. "Is that what I think it is?"

Roy sighed, "Yeah. Good thing I told them to use vodka not Everclear." Roy reached down and picked up his Jaegermiester.

Dick gave Roy the Bat look. "Yeah, good thing!"

Tim smiled up at them. "I got that Everclear in the orange juice! What's this?" He grabbed the Jaegermiester from Roy's hand. "COOL!" he downed it and coughed and spasmed. "Meet," he coughed "Del ... Del ... oh her," he said as he pointed at Delilah."

"We've met already, remember." Dick grabbed Tim's hand as he reached for another drink. "I think you've had enough."

"I DON'T THINK I HAVE!" Tim yelled as he tried to stand up and fell backwards into the chair. Roy and Dick laughed at him and sat down beside him. "well, ok, maybe I have," Tim said as he held his now spinning head. Getting up was more work than he thought.

"I'm afraid you three are going to have to leave," the bartender said as he walked to the table and pointed at Dick, Roy and Tim.

"Why?" Dick asked as he leaned across the table toward the round man.

"You're serving alcohol to a minor," the said pointing at Tim and the glass in his hand. "Can't allow it. You'll have to leave."

"That's a crock of shit," Roy loudly stated. "We didn't serve him, he just took what he wanted."

"No alcohol for minors. That's the law. Now either the three of you leave now or I call the sheriff," the bartender replied.

Dick had already stood, his hands outstretched in the palm position. "No need to do that. We were just messing around with my little brother. We didn't mean to cause you any trouble. We'll just ... be leaving ... now," Dick pulled Tim up and motioned his thumb toward the door. "Come on Lance."

"I don't wanna," Roy whined. "I wanna stay here with the girls. This cow town's just getting interesting."

"Now Cowboy," Dick said as he pointed to the door. "Lets go."

Roy got up grumbling. He whispered his room number in one of the girl's ears. She blushed and giggled. "I don't know Lance. You guys are cute, but you're kind of ... rough."

"I'm not rough," he protested.

"You look kinda rough," Tim slurred as he shook his two index fingers at him. "Both Lance's look rough."

"I'm not the one with the jail tats, Tot," Roy spat as he grabbed his beer bottle and headed toward the door. "One horse town and their one horse bars that aren't fit for anyone to stay at. I don't wanna stay here anyway. It's a bar for little old ladies," Roy made sure this last was loudly said.

Dick closed his eyes and hoped everyone would just ignore Roy as the drunk he was and let them leave in peace. The sound of a pool stick slamming against the wall told him they weren't ignoring Hurricane Roy.

"Who're ya calling a little old lady?" a bald, tattooed, leather wearing man asked. His coat identified him as belonging to a local biker's association -- the Demon Dogs. A white bulldog with horns and holding in his anthropomorphic hand a red pitchfork, flames behind him.

Roy turned to the man with a feral grin on his face. "Guess you -- dawg," he dragged out this last word.

Dick palmed his face. "Hold on to the wall," he told Tim as he moved between Roy and the biker. "Sir, if you'll just excuse my friend's big fat idiot mouth. It runs away with him. He's slightly inebriated and not responsible for what he says."

"I don't care if his parents were related, I'm gonna teach him what we do to smart-ass city boys around here," the biker said as he swung the pool stick at Dick's head.

Dick ducked and Roy swung hitting the guy in the jaw. "What did you do THAT for?" Dick yelled at Roy.

"He was going to hit you. No one hits my friends. Titans together and all that."

Dick was palming his face when one of the biker's friends slammed a chair into his back causing him to fall into Roy. "Oh that was low, hitting me in the back."

"Let's take 'em?" Roy prodded.

"Yes, let's," Dick agreed turning and kicking the pool stick from the hand of the advancing bald man.

Tim held up one hand, "I can help too." Letting go of the wall and advancing toward the on-going fight he fell flat in the floor. "Or not."

Dick and Roy made short work of the bar patrons who had started a fight with the wrong city boys. Laughing, they bent down to pick up Tim. "Come on little brother, time to go."

"Not so fast," the bartender said. "You've got to pay for the damage."

Dick looked around at the broken tables, remnants of chairs and the one broken pool table. Sighing, he asked, "How much?"

"The pool table alone will cost you two grand, plus the other damage. I'd say three thousand and we'll call it even. Or I call the cops. Your choice."

"Three thousand dollars!" He dropped Tim who slumped back to the floor. "Do we look like we carry that kind of cash on us?" Dick yelled as the bartender picked up the phone.

Roy walked over to the bar. "Whoa, waitaminute, put the phone down. Do you take plastic?" The bartender nodded. Roy smiled and pulled a credit card out of his wallet.

Dick smiled and walked back to pick Tim up. "That's very grown-up of you, to pay for this."

Roy grinned as he handed Dick's credit card he had acquired at the convience store to the bartender. "Any time buddy, you know me. Mr. Responsible."

* * *

"YOU USED MY CREDIT CARD!!!! MY CREDIT CARD!!!"

"Dick you don't have to yell," Roy said as he sat on the edge of the bed playing with the TV remote. "If you're gonna yell, yell about the sucky TV chioces. I think we've got what ... three channels of shows and nine channels of static."

"Just tell me WHY you used my credit card?"

"Because it was the only one I had. Geez, you don't have to get bent out of shape about it."

"What about 'Mr. Responsible'? Is he going to pay me back the three grand?" Dick asked as he walked between Roy and the TV.

"Why would he want to do that?" Roy grinned as he looked up at Dick. "You're in the way of the screen dude."

"He is you and you owe me three thousand dollars."

"Do not. Dude, you were as much a part of that fight as I was."

"You started it!"

"Did not."

"Did too."

"NOT!"

"TOO!"

"Oooooo," Tim moaned as he jumped from the bed and ran to the bathroom for the fourth time this morning.

Roy grinned. "BatTot's having a bad hangover."

A yelp came from the bathroom as Tim fell into the door, then out the door and onto the floor. He looked up, his face an interesting shade of pale green, and pointed at the bathroom door. "Rat. "RAT! There are rats!"

"It's probably the bell hop," Roy said leaning back on the rust colored blanket shaking the remote control.

"There's a huge rat in the bathroom. It ran between my legs while I was ... well when I was ... "

"When you were hugging the throne puking last night's Everclear," Roy said. "So there's a little mouse, whoopee."

Dick sighed, "I'll get it. Stay here."

"No! It's a rat, with big red eyes and ... we need to just leave." Tim scrambled up and staggered slightly. "Where's our bags?"

Roy looked at Dick, confusion on his face. Dick shrugged. "He's been scared of rats since he was five. Then there was the time that Ratcatcher had him in the Gotham sewers..."

Roy tossed the remote to Dick, stood, grabbed his butterfly knife from the bed side table and entered the bathroom closing the door. Tim's jaw dropped and he moved near Dick, "What's he doing?"

"Rat hunting."

"Ewwww. Man, he can't just do that. He -- " Tim's protestations were cutoff by the sounds of banging and crashing in the bathroom. Finally the door opened and Roy emerged holding a screwed rat on the end of his butterfly knife. "

"They're at least one rat short now," Roy said as he waved the rat topped knife around.

Tim moved slightly behind Dick. "Just get rid of that thing."

"Oooooo, what's the matter? Tot scared of the itty bitty mouse?" Roy asked as he came closer.

Tim gripped Dick's arm using his body as a shield as he yelled, "NO!" As Roy lunged toward him, Tim's face contorted and he jumped over the bed. "Keep it away!"

Roy burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?" Tim asked petulantly.

"Bat Tot's scared of a mouse! You're the sidekick to a flying mouse."

"Bat's AREN'T rodents!" Tim defiantly said.

"Ooooooooooo," Roy coughed out between laughter.

Dick glared at Roy. "Just get that out of here before I call the SPCA or tell Timmy about your baby-food fetish."

Roy headed toward the motel room door. Opening it he tossed the dead rat out. Turning, he shook his knife in Dick's direction. "Dude, that's cold. Besides I do not have a baby food fetish."

Dick grinned wickedly. "Then why were you caught stealing Donna's kid's food?"

"I happen to LIKE tapioca pudding. It has nothing to do with baby food."

"Sureeeeeeee it doesn't," Tim laughed.

"Then there was the ninth grade Titans ski trip Tim --" Dick began as Roy came up behind him and cupped his mouth.

"Never mind about that! No one EVER needs to know about that! Especially no one who knows people who know Dinah and it might get back to her. So on that note, who's ready for breakfast."

Tim moaned again. "God, don't mention food. EVER."

Dick grabbed his keys and headed to the door, "I'll go pick something up, and some coffee. Lots of coffee."

Roy grinned evilly at Tim, "Want to see if we can find more rats?"

"No!" Tim grabbed his clothes and headed into the bathroom slamming the door.

A wicked grin crossed Roy's face as he chuckled. Flopping back on the bed and riding the springs as the mattress rippled, he grabbed the remote, turning the TV back on and flipped through the three channels. He propped up on his elbow and opened his mouth as he watched Dick coming through the door empty handed. "Dude, where's the coffee? You haven't been gone long enough to go anywhere."

Dick ignored him, purposefully striding to the small desk on the other side of the room. He sat in the straight back chair and pulled the singular center drawer open pulling out a small pad of motel stationary. Picking up the pen he started writing.

"Yo, Grayson, what'cha doin?"

"Writing my will," Dick said without skipping a beat or looking up from the pad.

"Oh. Why?" Roy asked shaking the remote as it seemed to be stuck on Larry Winter Show.

"I'm gonna need it."

"Any particular reason?" Roy asked sitting up.

"The car's been stolen," Dick replied flatly.

"Oh. WHAT?" Roy jumped from the bed, moved to the door and opened it peering into the empty parking lot. "Oh crap. Dude you are dead."

"That's why I'm gonna need the will."

Tim emerged from the bathroom in his jeans, towel thrown over his shoulder, and water dripping from his still wet hair. He rummaged around in his bag, then looked up at his travel companions. "What's going on?"

Roy turned toward him and smiled. "Car's been stolen."

"What? OMIGOD! Have you called the cops?"

"NO!" Dick said, the first sign of emotion since his reentry into the room.

"Why not?" Tim said. He started rubbing his hair with the towel and walking toward Dick.

"If we report the car stolen, the cops will call the car's owner to let him know his car was stolen," Dick replied content in his reasoning.

"Yeah. And?" Tim pushed.

"The car's owner is Bruce who will kill us for letting his car get stolen," Dick retorted.

"Hence the will," Roy added with a lopsided grin as he pointed at the pad on the desk.

"You are both so short sighted," Tim said as he approached the phone. "This way we can blame the damage on the thieves."

Dick's eyes lit up. He jumped from the straight back chair, and leaped over the bed grabbing the telephone receiver from Tim's hand, and he deftly punched the numbers 9-1-1, and then smiled. "Yes ... I have an emergency to report. A car's been stolen." He held his hand out, thumb extended in the air and grinned.

Roy wrapped his arm around Tim's shoulder, "You're a devious kid. I like that about you."

* * *

"Uh huh," the deputy said as he scribbled on his pad. "Stolen you say."

"YEAH," Dick replied exasperated. "That's what we've been telling you for thirty minutes now."

The deputy looked up at him over the rim of his dark sunglasses. "You three wouldn't be trying to scam Mr. Wayne and the insurance company, would you?"

"Excuse me?" Dick asked indignantly.

"You think we took the car?" Tim asked. "Why would we take the car? It's our car!"

"It's Bruce Wayne's car. A car the three of you were paid to drive to Gotham City. A car the three of you have wrecked. I wouldn't put it past you to try selling the car and reporting it stolen."

"Hey! We wouldn't do that and you have no reason to say we would," Roy yelled as he walked closer. "We are the victims here. You're supposed to protect and serve so start serving."

"Um hm. Mr," looks at his pad, "Archer, is it? I've seen your rap sheet and Mr. Malone's. We don't generally have professional criminals in our neck of the woods."

"We ain't criminals," Tim stated defiantly, shoving his tattooed hands into his jean pockets.

Dick glared at the deputy. "Are you refusing to list the car as stolen?"

Taking the sunglasses off, the deputy hung them on the pocket of his brown uniform shirt. "Oh, I'm certainly listing it as stolen. I'll also be contacting the owner. You three need to make sure you stay in town. No running off. I have a feeling that I'm going to want to have a very long talk with you boys again." The deputy closed his pad, stuck the pen in the wire binding of the pad, and moved to his patrol car to leave the motel parking lot.

"I don't ... can you believe that crock a bull?" Roy shouted, his arms waving above his head incensed.

Dick's eyes narrowed as he watched the patrol car leave the parking lot. "He didn't even investigate. I can't believe he didn't do anything." Dick faced his friends with a determined look on his face. "Bruce always said that if you want a job done, do it yourself. Well, the only way we'll find the car is to do it ourselves."

"Yeah, we can do that," Tim said heading for the room. "Let's get our gear."

Roy shrugged. "Might as well. It's not like anything --"

Dick's eyes went wide. Tim froze in place, hand on the door. In unison they started to yell, "Don't --"

" -- else can go wrong," Roy grinned.

"Say --- awww man," Tim whined and pointed. The motel manager was approaching them taking long angry strides.

"Crap," Dick added. "Roy, you gotta stop saying that."

TO BE CONTINUED


End file.
